Suspicion floods in first. Then relief that I absolutely refuse to show, followed by my stupid curiosity. “How much?” I ask.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, his warm hands soothing my tired arms. “Something fair. Something that lets you breathe.”
My throat tightens again and I look away before he can see it.
“There’s no way I can afford it, Shepherd.” The words are barely above a whisper. “So thank you but no thank you.”
He exhales heavily. “You know you can be so stubborn sometimes, Price.” The use of my last name pulls my attention and I glance up to find his piercing stare and dumbfounded smirk. “I don’t care if you ever give me a fucking dime,” he says with a laugh. “I won’t let you be homeless. That’s non-negotiable. I only offered to accept rent to win this argument but instead, how about an ultimatum?”
My stubbornness does indeed rear it feisty head as I narrow my eyes and say, “What kind of ultimatum?”
He stands tall and crosses his arms over his chest. “You either stay in my guest house where you’ll be free to go about your day however you want with all the privacy and safety you need for the price of one dollar a day…”
“That’s thirty dollars a month! Are you crazy?”
“I just might be, yes, but you seem to like crazy so here I am.”
I cock my brow. “Or? What’s my apparent other option?”
“Or you have all those same amenities, but you stay with me. Here. In this house.”
I swallow hard, trying to process what he’s offering.
A place to live.
My own space.
Safety.
It sounds too good to be true. And in my experience, things that sound too good to be true always are.
“Why?” I ask, the question barely audible.
“Why what?”
“Why would you do this?” My voice grows stronger. “In all seriousness, you barely know me.”
Shepherd takes a step back, giving me space to breathe. He leans against the counter, his posture relaxed but his eyes intense.
“I know enough,” he says simply. “I know you work hard. I know you care about people who others forget about. I know you see value in things most people discard.” His voice softens. “And I know what it’s like to worry about where you’re going to live or where your next meal is coming from.”
That catches me off guard. “You do?”
He nods, a shadow passing over his face. “I told you about what my life was like growing up. My parents did everything they could to hide it from us, but I knew. I overheard the conversations, saw the letters from the bank. I’ve known what the wordforeclosuremeans since childhood, and not because it was in a spelling bee.”
Something in his expression shifts, a vulnerability I haven’t seen before. His eyes drop to the floor briefly, and I realize there’s more to Shepherd Haynes than the calm, confident quarterback everyone sees. “We got through it,” he continues, “but I remember that feeling. The uncertainty. Not knowing if tomorrow you’ll still have a roof over your head.” He looks back up at me, his gaze steady. “Nobody should have to live with that fear if they don’t have to.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “And nobody knows this about you? Is it something you keep a secret?”
“Most people don’t know,” he replies with a small shrug. “Because it’s not something I talk about much. I don’t want to bring any embarrassment onto my parents but they would tell you just the same. I remember what it feels like to lie awake wondering where you’ll go if the worst happens. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not someone I—” He stops himself, his eyes meeting mine. “Someone I care about.”
The unspoken word hangs between us.
Someone I like.
Maybe someone I could love.
I look down at my bandaged hand, at the white gauze wrapped neatly around my palm. Evidence of how quickly he stepped in when I needed someone. No questions asked. No strings attached. I bite my lip, torn between my desperate need for stability and my even more desperate need to maintain independence.
